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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27053707">you gave her your sweater</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi'>zhuzhubi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Angst, F/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, actually unrequited unrequited love, based on heather by conan gray obviously, but its not mutual, not really a song fic tho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:26:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,001</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27053707</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>you love spencer, but he loves heather</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spencer Reid &amp; Reader, Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>also on tumblr @zhuzhubii</p><p>...</p><p>pining is really not my thing, writing this was a nice challenge lol</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You realize you love Spencer Reid - really, truly <em>love</em> him - one cold night somewhere in the Midwest, just minutes away from boarding the jet and finally going home after a case that dragged on and on and on.  He tucks his cardigan around your shoulders that night on the tarmac - you’ll never forget the feeling of delicate fabric still warm from his body heat, the smell of cologne and state police precinct coffee he spilled on himself a few hours earlier. The fabric is so soft as you run your hands over it, worn though clearly well cared for - you realize you never want to take it off, and that’s how you know. You want to spend your whole life by Spencer’s side, wearing his clothing and curled up beside him and sharing chaste kisses in the morning -</p><p>Spencer smiles at you as he fiddles with his messenger bag, tugging on the straps as he shakes the grogginess out of his head. “You looked cold,” he says, and you think maybe there’s a chance - it’s one of those cliche things they do in cheesy romances so it must mean something, right? And yeah, it’s pretty likely Spencer doesn’t actually know that, but what if he does? He has all the subtlety of a truck most of the time - if <em>anyone </em>would pull a move like that straight out of a cheesy film it’s <em>him.</em></p><p>You board the plane and he takes the seat next to you, crossing one leg over the other and pulling out a thick novel from his messenger bag, hunching forward furrowing his brow, trailing his long index finger down the pages <em>just so</em> - just like he always does when he’s really interested in what he’s reading. His hands are so slender and perfect as you watch them glide over the pages, flipping through them at what you know is a leisurely pace in Spencer terms.</p><p>He looks up at you as if he can feel you watching him, biting back a grin when you jolt out of your stupor with a blush. “Read with me?” he asks, scooting closer and angling his book in your direction.</p><p>You blink at him in surprise, dumbly glancing between him and the book as you stutter, “B-but you read much faster than me…I-I don’t want you to have to slow down for my sake, won’t you get bored?”</p><p>He just shakes his head, smiling as he replies, “I could never be bored spending time with you.” And your heart damn-near leaps out of your chest, beating hard and fast as you think <em>does he…does that mean what I think it does? Is that a sign that he…?</em></p><p>But then he continues, “You’re my best friend, you know,” and you stifle your disappointment, mumbling a quick, “Yeah, I know. You’re my best friend too,” before letting your eyes settle on the book, making like you’re reading and motioning for him to start turning the pages. </p><p>The thing is he<em> is</em> your best friend - it wasn’t a lie, not at all. You just wish he were <em>more</em> than that.</p><p>…</p><p>Spencer starts smiling more, starts coming to work with a spring in his step and a <em>satisfied smirk</em> almost as if -</p><p>You push the thought out of your mind - he hasn’t said anything about seeing anyone, hasn’t dropped an accidental <em>my girlfriend </em>(or <em>my boyfriend</em>) into the conversation, hasn’t made any indication that he’s even ‘on the market,’ so to speak. (But he <em>has</em> started slipping out of work a few minutes early instead of staying late every night. He’s become uncharacteristically attached to his phone, too, smiling down at it on the jet and<em> blushing blushing blushing</em> - he’s so <em>obviously </em>in love that it makes your stomach sink, makes you feel <em>sick</em> because the one he loves isn’t you)</p><p>Rossi invites everyone over for <em>dinner tomorrow night!</em> as you’re all heading out of the office one Friday. Spencer starts rocking on his heels, nervously running his hands over the strap of his satchel and averting his eyes. “Um!” he squeaks, a blush painting his face, “Would it be okay if…if I brought m-my girlfriend along?”</p><p>And the team’s all smiles and congratulations, patting him on the back and playfully teasing and saying, “Of course she can, Spencer” and “I knew it!” and “My man!” In the back of your mind you think <em>maybe he’s just doing it to make me jealous</em>, but then he glances over at you with a smile too wide to be anything but genuine. His eyes are filled with nothing but joy and love and excitement - you feel guilty for even <em>thinking</em> he might not really love her, it’s so painfully, <em>achingly</em> obvious that he <em>does.</em></p><p>You know you should be happy for him, that you should smile with him like JJ or tease him like Morgan or…or do <em>anything</em> really other than just stand there completely frozen, not knowing what to say and just barely holding back tears. He’s not in love with you, and it hurts. He’s not in love with you, and it’s not his fault - how could it be? You haven’t told him how you feel and even if you <em>had</em>, he can’t <em>make</em> himself love you (romantically, you mean. He loves you like a friend and you<em> wish </em>more than anything that it was enough)</p><p>In the end, you give him a half-smile and slip out, desperately hoping he’s too distracted by everyone else’s happiness to notice, catching your breath in the stairwell for a moment before finally dragging yourself back home. You have just under twenty-four hours to prepare yourself for meeting this woman, and you’re gonna need every second of it.</p><p>…</p><p>He introduces her with a nervous, “This is Heather, m-my girlfriend,” biting his lip as he tugs her closer - his hand fits <em>so perfectly </em>around her waist and you wish you knew how it would feel around yours. You’re vaguely aware of her greeting everyone with a sweet, “Spencer’s told me so much about his team - it’s so nice to finally meet you all!” You’re vaguely aware of responding, too, but all you can think about is how his tie matches her dress and the way he’s looking at her - he’s never <em>once</em> looked at you like that and the realization damn-near <em>crushes</em> you.</p><p>He barely takes his eyes off of her the entire night, just as much of the lovesick puppy you’ve always imagined he would be. The worst part is that she fits right in, there’s nothing to hate about her. There’s literally <em>nothing</em> to hate about her, but it feels like she’s the worst person in the world. </p><p>At the end of the night, Spencer drapes his cardigan over her shoulders as the head out the door. She tucks herself under his arm as he presses a chaste kiss to her cheek - they’re so close together they keep tripping over each other’s feet and if you didn’t hate Heather so much you’d think <em>that’s adorable</em>. </p><p>You watch them climb into an Uber, drunk on champagne and each other, so disgustingly in love that you can feel your dinner climbing up your throat. You choke it down, pulling your sweater tight around your middle - if you close your eyes you can remember how Spencer’s felt all those months ago, can almost smell the soft blend of stale coffee and cologne, can almost feel the lingering warmth from his body heat -</p><p>The tires crackle against the street, startling you out of your daydream as the car pulls away, leaving you behind as Spencer takes Heather back to his apartment instead of you. </p><p>…</p><p>Spencer talks about her all the time now that his ‘secret’ is out, droning on and on about <em>Heather this</em> and <em>Heather that </em>- it’s the first time you’ve ever thought about telling him to shut up. As much as you want to, you never do. You know how much it would hurt him, how many times people have said that to him and how it makes him feel unwanted - you would never forgive yourself if you gave in to your jealousy and fed his insecurities. </p><p>As much as you hate Heather and want nothing to do with her, Spencer can <em>never</em> know about that. You can’t be the best friend with the secret crush who makes him feel bad about being in love, you simply <em>refuse</em> to let yourself be that person.</p><p>So you smile and nod, doing your best to keep up the facade and crying yourself to sleep all the while. You say, “Nothing,” when he asks you, “What’s wrong?” You’re friendly with Heather (or as friendly as you can force yourself to be, at least) because you know how important it is to Spencer that his friends like his girlfriend. </p><p>You dream about them breaking up. You dream about her dying, then feel guilty after because Heather is perfect and Spencer loves her, he would be <em>devastated</em> if she died. Spencer is happy and that’s all that matters, right? </p><p>Everyone except Spencer knows how you really feel - you know this because they send you sympathetic glances every time Spencer starts chattering about Heather or calls her on the jet or brings her out with the team. You’re not sure if them knowing and pitying you makes it better or worse, but it <em>does</em> make you feel less alone at least - they try their best to get Spencer on another topic whenever Heather comes up, and you appreciate it. It doesn’t always work, but still.</p><p>… </p><p>JJ calls you one Saturday afternoon and asks if she can come over, her voice grim and urgent. “We need to talk,” she says, “It’s about Spencer.”</p><p>You agree and she’s there in less than ten minutes, knocking on your door with a bottle of wine and a sad smile. You let her in and ask her, “What happened?” She replies, “Let’s have a drink first,” and you think you already know why she needed to talk to you so urgently. </p><p>The wine is too sweet but you down two glasses in quick succession, slumping down on the couch and muttering, “Is he gonna ask her?”</p><p>“You need to move on,” she replies, “It’s not healthy for you to keep…pining after him like this.”</p><p>“<em>Is he gonna ask her?</em>” you repeat, your tone stern and unrelenting. You know what she’s going to say and you know it’s going to hurt <em>so much</em>, but you <em>need</em> to hear it -</p><p>“He asked me to help him pick out a ring. I was at the jewelers with him before coming here, he already placed the order.”</p><p>You just nod and pour yourself another glass, gulping it down like it’s water, your face caught somewhere between empty and a grimace. For a second you think about those moments in the movies, those moments when the protagonist confesses and the wedding is called off and everything is perfect - you know real life isn’t like that. You know it would be unfair of you to tell him now, to make him feel bad about being happy with someone else. To make him feel bad about not being in love with you.</p><p>You think about him proposing to her, about him getting down on one knee and professing his love, about her gasping and exclaiming “Yes! Yes<em> of course</em> I’ll marry you!” and him slipping the ring on her finger. You think about the wedding, about Heather in a long white dress and Spencer in a tailored suit, about watching them exchange vows and kiss and dance together. </p><p>You think about them consummating their marriage, and it makes you want to vomit even though you know they’ve fucked before. You think about Spencer calling the team together practically vibrating with joy, announcing “Heather’s pregnant!” and gushing over a black-and-white sonogram picture. You think about him raising kids that are his and <em>Heather’s</em>, not yours. </p><p>Spencer’s the love of your life, but you aren’t his. Maybe it’s time you start to really, <em>truly</em> accept that fact. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bachelor party was Morgan’s idea, unsurprisingly, and Spencer vehemently protested it at first - he started rambling about how it perpetuates the narrative of being ‘tied down’ by marriage and how he doesn’t really like going out anyway. But then Morgan and JJ and Emily interrupted with “it’ll just be us and we don’t have to do any of those typical ‘bachelor party’ things if you don’t want to. We don’t even have to go out - I’m sure Rossi’s living room would love to have us” and Spencer finally relented.</p><p>So that’s how you ended up on Rossi’s couch on a Saturday night, drinking wine like it’s water because<em> fuck</em> you need the alcohol to deal with the fact that Spencer and <em>Heather</em> are getting married exactly seven days from now. <em>At least Spencer’s having fun</em>, you think bitterly, <em>at least</em> the <em>groom is happy, that’s all that matters right?</em></p><p>Spencer looks fantastic, actually, even more so than he usually does. He’s practically glowing with excitement and happiness, so <em>sickeningly</em> in love with someone who isn’t you. You don’t want to do anything but watch him for the last few days before he and Heather tie the knot, don’t want to even <em>think</em> about him referring to her as his <em>wife</em> or as <em>Mrs. Reid</em> or anything like that. You want to pretend that this isn’t happening, that the whole reason you’re all gathered together at Rossi’s place isn’t to celebrate his impending wedding day and the <em>finality</em> it brings. </p><p>You just want to watch him because you love it. You love his fluffy hair and his cute little nose and that funny tight-lipped smile he makes sometimes. You love his rambles and his cardigans and the way he gives voices to the characters when he reads fiction out loud. You love him, but you can’t tell anyone because he’s engaged to someone else. You love him, and you <em>need</em> him to know. You want <em>everyone</em> to know because right now nothing matters more to you than your love for Spencer Reid -</p><p>The next thing you know, you’re kissing him. You’re kissing him and his lips are so soft and warm - they fit perfectly under yours and fuck you’ve been wanting this for so long -</p><p>He pushes you away, recoiling from you when you try to lean in a second time. His expression is flickering between shock and betrayal and hurt and <em>disgust</em> - through the haze of too much alcohol it feels like <em>maybe he’s loved me all along and he’s just upset that I never told him, that’s all. He didn’t think I loved him back so he settled for Heather, but he’s</em> wrong -</p><p>A slurred, “I love you,” slips out before you manage to bite it back. And it feels <em>so good</em> to say that to him, it feels so <em>fucking</em> good because it’s true and you’ve been forcing yourself to hold it inside for so long. “I love you, Spencer Reid,” you continue, stepping towards him as he stands frozen before you, “And I know you’re with Heather, but I just needed you to know before you get married a-and it’s too late, you know? There’s still time for us and I…I love you. I <em>love</em> you -”</p><p>“Stop!” he interrupts, taking a few steps back to increase the distance between you, looking warily between your outstretched arms and your face and your <em>lips</em>, “Just…just <em>stop!</em>” He brings a trembling hand up to his mouth, barely touching them at first and then frantically scrubbing at them with the back of his hand as if he’s trying to erase the feeling of his lips against yours. “I-I need a minute,” he stutters, his voice breathy and unsteady, “What just…? I-I don’t -”</p><p>And he cuts himself off with a shaky inhale, running his hands over his face and rocking on his heels - he glances around and sees the looks on everyone else’s faces, sees a little less <em>shock</em> and a little more <em>pity</em> than he was hoping for. “You all <em>knew</em> about this…,” he whispers, sinking down onto the couch and burying his head in his hands as everyone looks on in horror, bouncing his knee up and down as he tries desperately to make sense of the situation.</p><p>His reaction makes you angry because <em>what right does he have to be upset!? He’s not the one who had to stand by and watch as the love of their life fell for someone else - he has </em>no right<em> to play the victim here, does he? He’s not the one who had to bite their tongue for </em>years<em> as he gave his sweater to someone else, went home to someone else, </em>fucked<em> someone else, </em>proposed<em> to someone else! </em></p><p>And maybe if you were sober you’d realize that it’s not fair to blame him for not being in love with you, it’s not fair to expect him to read your mind or to reciprocate your feelings - you usually have the presence of mind to know it’s better to keep your mouth shut about this particular set of feelings. But right now you’re drunk and you’re at Spencer Reid’s <em>bachelor party</em>. You can’t bring yourself to <em>care</em> about how <em>he</em> feels right now.</p><p>Suddenly everything you’ve been holding in just starts pouring out of you - you ignore JJ as she reaches for your arm, shouting “(y/n)!” as she tries to stop you from saying things she knows you’ll regret once you sober up. You sit down next to Spencer and pretend it’s hope in his eyes instead of trepidation.</p><p>“Spencer, I love you <em>so much</em>,” you confess, “I’ve loved you since that night when we were coming back from a case and you wrapped your cardigan around my shoulders because I ‘looked cold,’ do you remember that? And you’re always asking if I want to read with you and bringing me coffee a-and things like that. I-I waited too long to tell you and then you said you had a girlfriend and I thought it was too late. But now you know how I feel and…and you don’t have to <em>pretend</em> anymore -”</p><p>“Pretend?” his voice cuts through yours, cracking over the word as he looks as you like you’re a stranger, “I wasn’t…I’m not - I’m not <em>pretending</em> about anything, (y/n). I…I did those things because you’re my <em>friend</em>, not because I’m…I’m <em>secretly in love with you</em>, or whatever. (y/n), I’m getting <em>married</em> next week! That’s not up for debate, okay? None of this is some…<em>ploy</em> to make you jealous, or anything like that. I’m not <em>settling</em> for Heather - she’s the love of my life!” </p><p>He springs to his feet and starts pacing around the room, tugging at the fluffy hair you love so much, his breath hitching as he tries to calm himself down. Your breath is hitching too, silent tears are falling down your face - despite what the alcohol is pulling out of you, you <em>know</em> that he really does love Heather. You <em>know </em>that, despite the blatant denial trying to convince you otherwise - and maybe it’s incredibly unhealthy, but you don’t know who you are anymore outside of loving Spencer Reid. The denial is just trying to protect you, and you don’t know what to do when faced with <em>un</em>deniable proof that he <em>really</em> isn’t in love with you.</p><p>“Oh my god - I can’t believe I didn’t see it!” he mutters to himself, practically wearing a hole into the floor with his frantic pacing until he stops all of the sudden, his face draining of color as he gasps with realization, “This is why Heather is always so uncomfortable around you, <em>oh my god</em>…”</p><p>“Spencer…,” you mumble, reaching out for him only for him to flinch away once again, batting your hand away and taking a swift step back. You wrap your arms around your midsection and pretend they’re his, a sob clawing its way up your throat as you try to get him to listen to you. “Spencer, I love you -”</p><p>“Stop <em>saying that!</em>” he shouts, flinching at the harshness of his own voice. He takes a shaky breath before lowering his voice and continuing, “Please…<em>please</em> just stop. I-I don’t know what you <em>want</em> from me -”</p><p>“I want you to say it back!” you exclaim, the anguish and desperation obvious in your tone, “Please, Spencer. I…I <em>need</em> you to say it back.”</p><p>He just looks at you and shakes his head, pity and pain and betrayal clear in his eyes. “I-I <em>can’t</em>,” he replies, the words so soft you can almost pretend you didn’t hear them, “You know I can’t, (y/n). I don’t…I don’t want to <em>lie</em> to you. You’re my <em>best friend</em> -”</p><p>“I know!” you sob, “I <em>know</em> that and it fucking hurts because that’s all I ever am to you - your <em>best friend</em>. And I have to watch as you go home to Heather instead of me. And I’m supposed to be <em>happy</em> for you, but guess what? I’m not, I’m not happy - <em>I hate her</em>. I hate her so much because she’s perfect and she has the <em>one thing</em> I know I can <em>never</em> have, Spencer. So the <em>least</em> you can do is <em>fucking</em> listen to me when I tell you that I love you because I love you more than <em>that bitch</em> ever will!”</p><p>Spencer just stands there gaping at you, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to think of a response, a million different things flashing through his expression before <em>hurt </em>and<em> anger</em> overtake them all. He stalks closer to you and it’s nothing like what you were half-hoping for - he looms with the quiet aggression you’ve only seen him use on unsubs before, his eyes somehow both fiery and frozen over.</p><p>“Don’t you <em>ever</em> call my fiancé a bitch again,” he hisses and you wilt under the chilling fury you never imagined he would direct towards you.</p><p>And then he’s gone, storming out into the night and letting the door slam closed behind him. In the back of your mind you register a cacophony of voices shouting “Spencer!” and “Spence!” and “Reid!” as he goes. You’re vaguely aware of Morgan running after him, but none of that seems important as you sink to your knees in the middle of Rossi’s living room, ugly sobs wracking your frame as the others panic around you. JJ pulls you up onto the couch and presses a glass of water into your hands - she doesn’t look sympathetic like she did all those months ago when she informed you that Spencer was planning to propose, and that’s when everything you just said to him finally hits you.</p><p>You told him that you’re in love with him a week before his wedding. You implied that he doesn’t really love his fiancé. You called her a bitch and you <em>meant it.</em> </p><p>You turn to JJ in horror, asking, “Will he ever forgive me?” with a quiver in your lip and a waver in your voice.</p><p>She just grimaces in response. It’s answer enough. </p><p>…</p><p>When you wake up the next morning, the pounding in your head drowns out the memories for just a second. But then you blink your eyes open to an unfamiliar room and run your hands over unfamiliar bedsheets, and you remember - you’re at JJ’s house because despite how angry she is with you, she didn’t think you should be alone.</p><p>You drag yourself out of bed and out into the living room, swallowing nervously when you notice JJ waiting for you on the couch. She doesn’t even look angry anymore, just sad and disappointed and pitying. She pats the cushion beside her but doesn’t say anything, just sighs and averts her gaze as if it’s painful to look at you. You sit down next to her and take a few deep breaths, trying desperately to think of something to say, hoping more than anything that last night wasn’t as bad as you remember. </p><p>“Will he ever forgive me?” you repeat, nearly choking on the words. Tears trail down your cheeks and you make no motion to wipe them away, instead leaving them there as evidence of your pain (and shame and <em>regret</em>)</p><p>She sucks in a breath as if she’s trying to decide whether or not to speak the truth. “I don’t know,” she says after a pause, “I…if you said that to me about Will…I don’t think I could forgive you.”</p><p>It’s the truth she held back last night because she knew you couldn’t handle it right then. And you know you needed to hear it, you know that there’s a <em>painfully</em> real possibility that Spencer will never forgive you, but you still wish she hadn’t said it. You don’t want to believe it because he’s <em>Spencer</em>, he’s your <em>best friend</em> and <em>yes </em>you wish he were more than that, but it’s better than not having him at all. “B-but,” you start to protest, “I was <em>drunk!</em> He…he <em>has</em> to forgive me -”</p><p>“Spencer doesn’t <em>have</em> to do anything, (y/n),” JJ replies, making no effort to pull her punches like she would have before last night, “We both know that you weren’t lying about how you feel - <em>Spencer</em> knows that too. And you called his fiancé a bitch - just <em>think about that</em> for a second, (y/n). It doesn’t matter that you were drunk - he doesn’t have to forgive you.”</p><p>All you can do is hunch forward and bury your face in your hands just like Spencer did last night, crying and crying and crying because there’s nothing else you can do - you said what you said and JJ is right. He doesn’t <em>have</em> to forgive you, he <em>probably won’t</em> forgive you. </p><p>“I know,” you mumble as JJ sits still by your side, watching on but making no motion to comfort you, “I know he doesn’t. I just want him to.”</p><p>…</p><p>You call Spencer <em>over and over and over</em> once you get home from JJ’s, but he never picks up. And you know it’s because he doesn’t want to talk to you, that he’d rather spend his time with Heather, but you keep calling because you need to hear his voice. You need him to tell you that he doesn’t hate you for what you said (even though at this point you’re pretty sure he does)</p><p>On the twelfth call you get an automated message saying, “The number you have reached is not available…,” and you realize that he’s blocked you. </p><p>You keep calling anyway, text the team and ask if they’ve been in contact with him just to be sure he’s alright, that he hasn’t been abducted or anything like that. Morgan is the one who replies, says, “(y/n)…just leave him alone. He doesn’t want to talk to you, and honestly I can’t blame him for being upset with you.” </p><p>And you have <em>no right</em> to be mad at him and you know it, but you have half a mind to storm over to his and Heather’s apartment and yell at him for ignoring you. Instead, you make yourself two mugs of coffee - one sickly sweet and one more reasonably flavored - and curl up on the couch with a book, pretending Spencer’s right there reading with you.</p><p>…</p><p>You walk into the bullpen on Monday morning with your head held high like nothing happened - part of you hopes that if you just pretend nothing happened everyone else will go along with it and pretend too. But Spencer can’t even look at you, acts like he can’t hear you when you try to talk to him - you knew that realistically he wouldn’t just let it go, but you’d hoped for it <em>so badly</em> and it’s <em>so painful</em> when reality comes crashing back down on you.</p><p>That’s how it goes all day - you bring Spencer fresh coffee and he ignores it, you ask him a work-related question and he replies without looking up, you run into him in the break room and he immediately leaves without even acknowledging you. And then he comes up to your desk at the end of the day, rocking on his heels and stuffing his hands in his pockets and averting his eyes just like he always does when he’s nervous - you can’t help but think <em>maybe this is it! Maybe he’s going to forgive me -</em></p><p>“Heather and I decided…that we don’t want you to come to our wedding,” he says, finally looking at you without even the slightest hint of uncertainty in his eyes.</p><p>You just gape at him because you never expected <em>this</em>, never expected him to disinvite you from his wedding. And it’s not like you really wanted to go, to see him and Heather do all the things you wish he would do with you, but being invited meant he cared about you as a <em>friend</em> at least and it was much better than nothing. </p><p>Now he’s looking at you with nothing but disgust - he’s either too angry or just doesn’t care enough any more to even pity you - and you just open and close your mouth like a fish as you reach for a response, barely managing to choke out a stuttered, “W-what do you…what do you mean?”</p><p>He just sighs and looks away for a second, clearing his throat as he glances back at you. “If you love me as much as you say you do, then you won’t ruin this for me too,” he replies, his voice almost inaudibly soft and breaking a little - it’s then that you realize this is just as painful for him as it is for you.</p><p>“I promise I won’t…c-crash your wedding, Spencer. <em>I won’t be there</em>, you have my word,” you agree because you can’t bear to hurt him any more than you already have. And anyway, what else are you supposed to do?</p>
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